Fallen Heroes: Tribute To 911
by wonderpasta
Summary: This is a memorial for 9/11. I always thought that the Americans who fought to get out of those buildings, those who lost their lives on the planes, those were showing the spirit of America. The way they worked together for their lives, I thought it was heroic. I wrote this fan fiction in honor of them, but it isn't happy, I'm sorry.
1. 85 Floors

_On September 11, 2001, the twin towers fell, and the Pentagon destroyed. Through the spite of the Islamic group called "Al Queda," over 3 thousand lives were lost, and countless lives were changed forever._

It was the phone ringing that woke Alfred up, not the alarm. It was lucky that it hadn't woken him up later, or he would of been even later. It was a whopping 50 minutes that he overslept, and that meant trouble.

Immediately, he leapt out of bed and grabbed his home phone and his work pants.

"Are you okay?!" His friend practically screamed at him once he accepted the call. "I waited for 40 minutes!"

Oh yeah, it was his turn for the car pool. "Sorry," Alfred grumbled as he struggled to get through a cotton black pant leg, "I overslept."

"Again?!"

"Yeah, dude. Think I was dreaming of some hot chick?"

"Probably! Hey, I gotta go. Make sure you get here soon, sweet, or the boss is going to have a hernia," he laughed. After the call ended, Alfred chucked the phone on the bed, grabbed his bomber jacket, and sprinted out the door. There wasn't even time for breakfast! That sucked, because he was super hungry.

Alfred worked in the first World Trade Center, right on the 85th floor. It was a nice job; the pay was nice, there was a McDonalds inside, and it was only ten minutes from his apartment. The only real downside was the awkward elevator rides. Well, and the boss. There was a "co-worker only" joke around the cubicles that the boss was bi-polar, and it was probably true.

"Mr. Jones, do you know what time it is?" Boss called once he walked in the office. Her dark brown eyes stared at him, screaming disappointment.

"Shit, she noticed," Alfred muttered under his breath, just low enough for only him to hear. Then, after careful consideration of the best course of speech, he decided to aim for the simple route. Silently, he strode to her desk and answered, "8:34, ma'am."

"You know, I like you. You're a good worker," Boss continued, only pausing to dramatically interlock her fingers like a good boss always should, "However, I just can't have you oversleeping like this. How many times has this happened, Mr. Jones?"

"3 times, ma'am."

Every word spoken with the boss was one step into the minefield. Make one wrong word, take one misstep, it's just too likely she'll blow up. And when that happens, it only means hellfire and unemployment.

"And it's going to be last three times. I'll be docking your pay for this week, you hear?" She said choppily.

"Damn it," he cursed under his breath, and limped like a defeated puppy back to his desk. With a big sigh, he settled in his chair and turned to the computer.

Suddenly, there was an odd swaying motion. It was almost like an earthquake.

Then, everything exploded.

A huge fire broke out of the windows, shooting crackling glass all over the burning carpet. The air had turned hot, unbearably hot. As Alfred madly scrambled to the elevator, he felt something soft smash beneath his work shoes. When he looked down to see what it was, he had to fight to not scream.

It was Mike. His coworker. His charred mass was blown back, his face locked forever into a look of surprise.

Alfred remembered being jealous that Mike got the cubical by the window.

There was screaming and running, but Alfred couldn't move. His legs were poised to run, but they wouldn't move. He was stuck, fearfully staring in the eyes that will never see again.

Then, someone grabbed his arm. "Come on, leave him! He's dead!" They cried as they pulled him away from Mike.

Alfred dumbfoundedly stumbled as the man, who he realized was his carpool buddy, lead him past the elevator... and to the stairs.

"You aren't supposed to use an elevator in a fire," the coworker explained once he saw Alfred's confused face.

Then they started to descend down the stairs. Black, billowing smoke smothered everything and colored their faces black. Their lungs, their skin was on fire. Blisters had formed from the heat, and every breathe was one filled with pain, heat and smoke.

By the 65th floor, Alfred's legs gave out. Quickly, his carpool grabbed him. "Come on, you can do this," he whispered hoarsely as he helped carry Alfred down the stairs.

"Just leave me, or you're going to die too," Alfred croaked. His heart beat uncontrollably out of his chest.

For a moment, he was silent, instead focusing on descending the stairs. Then, he suddenly stopped. "No, I don't think I could live knowing I abandoned you," his carpool buddy answered, "We're going to get through this. Both of us."

In silence, they then continued to tackle down the stairs. Eventually, he was able to stand again, and began to help his coworker down the stairs, one by one. There was a lobby that they crossed, where hundreds of people had frantically swarmed around the elevators. They only paused briefly, as his coworker had started coughing frantically.

"I have athsma," he later explained.

Soon, the two had found a blonde figure at the bottom of the 50th floor, shaking and quivering among the impractical high heels women had discarded. As Alfred pulled him up, he realized that the man's eyes were a light color of blue. In a different light, it seemed almost purple.

"I can't do it," the man sobbed, "I don't even work here and I just watched my friends go back upstairs. They're all probably dead."

Somehow, his carpool buddy had calmed him down with a few French words and hugs. It was almost like they already knew each other, but Alfred knew better. In a building this size, such coincidences were impossible.

"His name is Matthew," his carpool buddy whispered to Alfred, after calming Matthew down, "be careful, he's really scared.

For a while, it seemed like they were going to make it. The air had gotten clearer, his carpool buddy was breathing easier, and it seemed like Matthew had gotten calmer. The pace they were at was good.

But, once they reached the 40th floor, everything went wrong.

At the 40th floor, a huge piece of the ceiling had collapsed and landed on his carpool buddy. In horror, Alfred watched as the plaster and brick crushed his friend.

"Francis!" He called his carpool. His heart sunk as Francis never answered. Quickly, he scrambled to the top of the stairs where his buddy laid. A puddle of blood flowed where Francis hit his head and fell, dying his light blond hair a dark crimson. Frantically, Alfred tried to pry the brick off of him, but the damage was done.

"No!" Alfred began to sob, and squeezed Francis' hand. "We were supposed to make it together, dude!"

When he stared in his carpool buddy's wasting cerulean eyes, he realized why his carpool buddy always had been asked about him, talked to him, worked projects with him.

Alfred's known his carpool buddy since he was a child. This man, Francis, had been his father's best friend. He was always around Alfred as a child, he raised him with his father. When Alfred had slipped in the creek and almost drowned, Francis was there to pull him out. He was always there to save him.

That was why he couldn't leave Alfred behind. That was why he called Alfred this morning. Even when Alfred had grown, he had continued to watch over him.

"We were supposed to make it together!" Alfred cried louder as he held Francis' battered head. "We were supposed to make it together!"

Francis rested his blue eyes on him, and coughed for the final time a murmur in French. Slowly, the life in his eyes faded away.

From the bottom of the stairs, Matthew had realized Francis had gone down. "PAPA!" he screamed, and bolted to the top of the stairs. Helplessly, he looked at Alfred for some kind of sign, some sort of hope.

Both his and Alfred's hearts had shattered into billions of shards when Alfred tearfully shook his head.

"He's gone," Alfred whispered, letting tears flow down his cheeks. With heavy ragged gasps, Matthew sank to his knees and grabbed Francis' lifeless body to his chest.

"Oh, Papa..." Matthew sobbed, "Not my Papa, please... My Papa..."

After many tears and considerations, Francis' bloodied body was left on the 40th floor. It took so much to do it, but it's what he would of wanted. He was a best friend, and a father. Both Matthew and Alfred swore to never forget him.

Alfred wanted to ask Matthew a million questions, apologize a million times. He was knew what it was like for your parent to die; his mother died when he was a child. However, he know better than to speak to him. It was better to let them both mourn silently.

"Do you know what is going on?" Matthew finally grumbled, on the 36th floor.

"What do you mean?" Alfred asked.

"Do you know what's happening?" He pointed up while asking again, "why are we're evacuating the building?"

Surprisingly, the thought had never crossed him. "I assumed that there was an earthquake, and it caused a explosion with the faulty wiring," Alfred said, after thinking about the swaying motion and the fire.

"Wrong." Matthew growled, "A plane hit the building."

"What?!" Alfred exclaimed, completely astounded. "Was it an accident?"

Matthew paused, taking a time to think. "I hope so." he answered, "It's unfathomable to thing someone would do this on purpose."

"Well, we gotta keep going," Alfred tried to reassure. In reply Matthew gave a short nod and tapped down the stairs faster.

Once again, things were looking like they would really make it. And they were getting close, too. Only 10 floors left before they were safe! Alfred was going to look forward to seeing the sky. Maybe he'll go get something to eat at McDonalds and call his father to try and patch things up! From seeing Matthew's anguish over his father, Alfred realized how important family is. It was all he wanted was to get out of this hell.

He only had 5 floors to go.

**-later-**

_"Oh my gosh! The North World Trade Centre has just collapsed! My prayers go out to the families affected by this. This is the worst tragedy America has faced yet," the newscast reporter exclaimed as the live footage of the building crumpled to dust._

_Anxiously Arthur dialed his son's number again, hoping that he would answer this time. Once again, he was disappointed. _


	2. AN

If you were offended by this, I am so sorry. I meant for this to be accurate and respectful.

It is up to you what happens in the end.

I feel like on that day, so much had happened. And ordinary people that lost their lives, they're important too.

Please don't ever forget the lives that were affected on 9/11. I'm so sorry this is late.

I wrote Canada and France in there, because this wasn't just an American casualty. Yes, there was mostly American casualties, but there was other people in the building that were visiting from other countries and places. It was to be respectful to those lives as well.

Thank you for reading, and feel free to review if you want.


End file.
